Page 4 of When a Scot Gives His Heart
“Ye kinnae do that! Yer clan needs the alliance!”
He nodded. “Aye, we do, but we dunnae need it so greatly that we will sacrifice honor. We will find another alliance.”
She glared at him. “Yer father will nae allow it, and I’ll nae consider yer vow to wed me broken until yer father has agreed.”
“My father kinnae force me to wed ye and neither can yer threats.” Callum turned and strode toward his horse with Edina bellowing his name.
He kept going until he was mounted and riding away from her. He felt liberated, though also burdened by what was to come next. He suspected his father, and most assuredly his mother, would try to compel him to mend the rift. But he’d not bind himself to a woman like Edina for life. That would not be good for the clan, nor for any children they might have. For too long, Callum had obeyed his father’s commands, despite his doubts, but no more. He’d not wed Edina, but he would do all he could to ensure his clan made another alliance.
The best way to do that would be to travel with haste to the Gathering and speak to the other lairds who’d been called there by the Campbell laird. Callum hoped that some of them had doubts about pledging loyalty to the Steward, too. His father disagreed with Callum’s concerns, but his father would not always be laird. It would be Callum’s duty someday, and he intended to be informed thoroughly about the politics of his land and choose his loyalty based on the honor of a man, not how the man could increase the Grant clan’s wealth.
Marsaili sat on a plaid in the grass with her mother and sister, as she had been ordered to by her father. The lords and lairds who’d been invited to the Gathering, including the Earl of Ulster, had ridden off into the woods some time ago for a Bow and Stable hunt. Her father had chosen to hunt a wild boar as opposed to the usual prey of a deer, and the animal had taken off with a squeal. The men, all assembled on horseback with their bows ready to shoot, had set off after it. The winner would receive a purse of coin and his choice of lass to dance with at the feast tonight. Her brother Colin was the best shot she had ever seen, and under normal circumstances, he would be the winner. Except today, of course, he’d been instructed to let the Earl of Ulster pull ahead for the win so he could shoot him from behind.
Marsaili picked unhappily at a blade of grass. She listened with little interest to her mother and sister, who were speaking extensively on the eligible men present, making a list of their attributes, which apparently included their clan’s wealth, their clan’s strength, and finally, the man himself. Not of his honor, of course—her petty mother and sister were judging each man by his appearance.
Marsaili listened half-heartedly, but most of her thoughts were occupied with the horrible predicament in which she found herself.
She’d met the Earl of Ulster when he had arrived. He’d only managed to draw his gawking gaze from her cleavage, which Helena had ensured was almost spilling out of Marsaili’s gown, when her mother had inquired after his wife. His answer had been disturbing and telling of his character. Marsaili had quickly concluded that he had little merit when he had complained that his wife was “still stubbornly clinging to life” despite his best physician assuring him that the woman would succumb to her sickness within a few months. He’d noted, with a scowl, that it had been six tiresome months.
It disgusted her to think upon his callous words and uncaring attitude. She did not want to do as her father had demanded. She did not want to gain the earl’s attention, become his mistress, and then wed him, either. But she had little choice if she wanted to protect Maria.
“They approach!” Helena cried out and scrambled to her feet. The sound of the hunting dogs barking filled the air. “Mother! Callum Grant is leading the hunters!” she gushed.
Marsaili looked up from the grass. She did not know who Callum Grant was. She’d only been present yesterday when the Earl of Ulster had arrived, and then her father had commanded her to her room until today’s hunt. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she stared at the rider who was coming hard and fast at the boar, the hunting dogs on his heels. The Highlander had his bow raised, and Marsaili could see, even from a distance, that he had quite powerful arms.
“Where is Colin?” Mother moaned. “Callum Grant is nae meant to win!”
“There!” Helena exclaimed, pointing. “He is ten paces behind Callum.”
Marsaili rose to her feet, getting embroiled in the excitement of the hunt despite her worry. Colin had never lost a hunt, and she wanted to be in a position to see him finally bested. He’d been especially cruel to her all her life. He was the one who often locked her in the penance cell and said she had done things she had not. Sin or not, she would enjoy watching his defeat. He was as prideful as they came, and this public loss, which also would disturb their father’s carefully laid plans, would sting his pride.
“Do ye see the earl?” her mother demanded.
“There,” Marsaili said pointing, “he’s coming up beside Colin.” The thundering of the horses’ hooves reverberated in the air, and the ground trembled beneath her feet. Marsaili held her breath in anticipation as Callum Grant closed in on the boar, backing it against a wall of rock. He cocked his head slightly, and she knew he was lining up his shot. Behind him, her brother and the earl raced onward, the earl pulling ahead of Colin. The minute he did, Colin raised his arm, and Marsaili cringed, knowing her brother intended to shoot the earl and not the boar.
The barking dogs grew frenzied, Callum released his arrow, and at the same moment, Colin released his. The boar fell and an exalted shout came from Callum, but then a bellow rang out as the Earl of Ulster yanked his destrier to a halt. He reached for his arm and awkwardly dismounted his horse.
“Make haste,” Marsaili’s mother said calmly. “Ye ken what ye’re to do.”
She started toward the earl as her father and the men gathered around him, but her feet would not carry her quickly. It felt as if she were wearing stone shoes. When her father glanced her way, his gaze narrowed dangerously, and she forced herself to increase her pace. Soon, she was running.
As she drew near the earl, so did Callum Grant. His gaze locked with hers, and her breath caught. She felt as captive as a hawk in an iron cage. Eyes the color of a rich honeyed mead assessed her frankly, and then his heavy eyebrows drew up as if he were shocked by something. By what, she didn’t know. The urge to smooth her gown and put order to her hair gripped her, but she fought it. When the earl groaned loudly, she remembered all too clearly the task at hand. She turned her attention to the earl, even as Callum moved to stand beside her. His arm brushed hers briefly, sending a tremor of odd recognition through her, as if her body were familiar with his.
“I can tend to the earl if someone can withdraw the arrow from his arm,” she said, inhaling in a desperate bid for calmness.
The Earl of Ulster swung toward her, face mottled red and fist raised in anger. Her instinct was to scuttle backward, but Callum stepped slightly in front of her. She blinked in shock at his boldness and at the fact that he would place himself in harm’s way to protect her, a woman he did not know. No one had ever done such a thing for her in her life.
The earl raked his flinty gaze over Callum before settling it on her once more. “There’d be no need to withdraw an arrow if that fool—” he glared at Colin “—had aimed with more care.”
“I am terribly sorry,” Colin replied, but his stiff tone alerted Marsaili immediately that her brother’s quick temper had been lit. Her father must have realized it, as well. He placed a hand on Colin’s shoulder, and she saw him squeeze it until his knuckles turned white. Colin’s jaw began to twitch, but he gave an almost imperceptible nod of understanding. “I can remove the arrow,” he said, exactly as their father had planned.
“If you believe I’d let you near me, you’re mad!” the earl bellowed and then grabbed Marsaili by the arm. “You will do it. I’ll take a woman’s touch.”
To dress an arm was one thing but to remove an arrow? “I kinnae, my lord. I—”
“Ye dare defy me?” He shot her a menacing glare.
Callum moved forward so quickly, she didn’t even realize what he was doing until she heard a snap, and then in a flash, he yanked the arrow out of the earl’s arm. “There,” he said, throwing the two halves of the arrow on the ground. “’Tis done.”
